Put on the red light
by Augustine blues
Summary: John watson has recently returned from military service when he meet Sherlock Holmes London's only consulting prostitute
1. Chapter 1

It had been only a week since Dr. John Watson had returned home from his military service in Afghanistan. He'd been honorably discharged, wounded in combat. His days were dull. Although he had taken a bullet to his left shoulder he walked with a limp. He used a cane to make himself more mobile, however it was tedious. It seemed as though He was becoming an old man, although he was only in his early 30's.

John Slept very rarely since he'd returned, haunted by dreams of his own boys dripping blood, and the shocked faces of his advisories as they breathed their final breathes. Being that he was a military doctor John had seen more then his fair share of gore. On more then one occasion he'd had to remove various limbs from fellow soldiers in an attempt to spare the rest of their bodies, sometimes in vain. It was all very personal though he tried not to let it be. These were men that he saw everyday. In the barracks, out on the front lines, and now on his table as he tried to assure them that they would make it home. He knew their names and stories. He knew about the wives and children they had left behind at home and their aspirations for the future past the harsh reality of their present situations. It was all he could dream of these days.

He'd made several attempt at being a normal civilian again since he'd return. Currently he was staying in London in tiny one room flat with the kitchen attached to the bedroom. There wasn't much to it as he didn't own much these days. Fortunately, that made it simple for him to keep everything tidy.

'_1 new voicemail ' _The message flashed on the screen of his mobile while. John assumed that the message would be yet another one of Harry's attempts to get in contact with him since he'd returned. Speaking to Harry wasn't high on his list of priorities at the moment. They'd had dinner the night He'd gotten to London. She'd picked him up at the airport and brought him some of his old things, as well as giving him a new cell phone.

"_Try to stay in contact will you please. I've been worried sick about you while you were over seas. When I heard that you'd been shot I was absolutely terrified that I'd never get to see my little brother again." Harry had said. The emotional sentiment went for the most part unnoticed. John did however notice something else. _

_"Clara give this to you?" He asked, spotting the engraving on the back. _

_"Yes it was a birthday present. I've um, upgraded since then. "Harry said. " Are you sure you're going to stay in London. You could always come and live with me until you get a job sorted and all that." She offer in an attempt to take the conversation away from her and Clara. _

_"I'll be fine thanks. Besides you two would probably prefer your privacy. Don't need me sticking around." John said. It was the most polite excuse he could come up with without touching on the many reason he'd rather not live with Harry. _

_"It's actually rather lonely at home at the moment... I didn't really want to bring my personal problems things the first night you got home but Clara and I are getting a divorce. That's why she didn't come with me this evening." _

_"What?" John asked a little astonished. " She left you?" _

_"No. I left her. It's a long story, I would really prefer not to get into it at the moment." Harry turned away to flag down the waiter, asking him for another whiskey on the rocks. _

John picked up his phone and pressed his ear to it to check his message. To his surprise it was not Harry. "Hello John, this is Dr. Ella Thompson. I was just checking it to make sure that we were still on for your first appointment tomorrow afternoon at 3 a clock. Please let me know. Have a good night." John had almost forgotten. He was set to meet with his therapist for the first time the following day. Perfect, another way to make him feel like his new life was inadequate. Therapy, nightmares, pain medications and that bloody limp. Is this what he'd become. The idea was intolerable. He pocketed his phone, threw on a jacket over his jumper and headed out.

He decided to take a walk down to a bar close to the flat he was staying in. At least he could get out and have a drink, Maybe even catch the football game to distract fro that fact that he'd be sitting at the bar drinking by himself. He had made several attempts to get a hold of old friends he thought might still be in London but for the most part his efforts had yielding nothing but a few emails promising they would have drinks ' At some point soon, things are really busy at the moment.'

He sat at the end of the bar watching the football game. He was on his 3rd pint when he heard someone shout from behind him. " JOHN WATSON." He turned quickly to see a plump middle aged gentleman standing near door of the bar. He did't recognize him although the face seemed overwhelmingly familiar to him even though he couldn't manage to place it. " Mike Stamford." Mike said, noticing Johns confused expression.

"Oh wow, Hi it's been a while." John said as Mike took the seat next to him at the bar.

"It has, it has." Mike said, ordering himself a beer although he already reeked of alcohol. "Someone told me your died." He blurted out. " I thought I might be seeing things."

"Don't know where they came up with that one. I did get shot though, been overseas. I just came back last week actually." John said.

"You don't say!" Mike said with what John assumed to be mock wonder.

"Well I wasn't getting shot out here in London." John said causing Mike to let out a low rumbling laugh which seemed to start in his belly and work it's way up to his throat. He clapped his hand against John's shoulder, causing John to wince a bit. Although it was healing well he was still having some pain in his shoulder do to the bullet wound.

"Still humorous as ever eh Johnny Boy?"Mike said, "Bartender get this man a shot of bourbon. He's just come back from the war." The bartender rolled his eyes at Mike who seemed to be very drunk already and slid 2 shots down to them. John wasn't much for liquor although he did enjoy a good bourbon from time to time. He quickly knocked it back, slamming the glass down on the bar. "Got a kick don't it." Mike said, draining his own. "Say I know a bar not to far from here that might be a little more exciting. Maybe we can find you a nice lady friend solider. Probably been a while hasn't it?" Mike said. John blushed, but he didn't think that Mike would take no for an answer and it would be nice to meet some people.

"Alright then I'm game." John said putting a few dollars down on the bar and getting up to grab his cane. He'd forgot about it up until now. What self respecting young woman is going to flirt with a man who carries a cane, not at this age. On the other hand if they were going somewhere that a man like Mike could find a date then he probably wouldn't run into a problem.

"This is the place." Mike said as they arrived. John looked out the window of the cab at a glowing red sign. '_Angelo's' _ it said in florescent lettering. John had heard of the place before, it was known for cheap drinks, and a rather seedy reputation.

John looked around as they walked into the dimly lit bar. All of the men in their looked to be middle aged. Some looked to be a bit rougher then others but the crowd seemed mixed. Some of the men looked very well to do Perhaps even Lawyers and Bankers they probably could have afforded a place much more upscale then this dive.

They took a seat at a table in the corner. Although the bar seemed to be very low budget they had an array of beautiful, scantily clad waitresses. A tall blond woman wearing little more then what looked like a plaid napkin and heels came walking over to the table. " What can I get for your boys?" She asked, winking at Mike. "I'll have a scotch on the rocks please and..."

"Just a Guinness for me thanks." John said, he's not starting to catch on to why Angelo's had gotten the reputation that it had. After all they weren't far from Baker street.

Of all the places that you didn't want to be caught late at night Baker street was the least desirable. Drugs and crime ran rampant. Worst of all though it was where most of London's desperate went to seek company from ladies of the night. John had come to realize what Mike had meant when he said find him a girl and was now starting to get more and more uncomfortable. "I'm going to go out and have a smoke." John said, standing up.

"Alright mate." Mike said, as John headed for the door.

John leaned against the wall outside, just to the left of the bar so that he wouldn't be visible through the window. He didn't even smoke, he was just looking for an excuse to pop out for a minute and think. He though about leaving but it was nice to have some company for once...

Sherlock Holmes stood in the alley behind Angelo's smoking a cigarette. He was a tall and gangly young boy of about 25 years of age. He'd been working in the kitchen washing dishes. He could make a little extra money on the side and it was a good place to scout out Tricks. "Thought I might find you here." A grey haired man in a trench coat said, walking into the alley behind the establishment. Sherlock didn't seem at all bothered by his appearance.

"I've been working in the kitchen, washing dishes for Angelo." He said, not bothering to look at the man as he took another puff of his cigarette.

"Good, maybe that will keep you out of trouble for a little while. "

"What do you want Lestrade? I have to get back in soon." Sherlock asked. Lestrade cleared his throat.

"Well, for one, you were supposed to check in with me this afternoon. This is the fourth time you haven't shown in two weeks. I have to tell the courts." Lestrade told Sherlock who didn't seem at all phased by this information.

"Why would I bother to come and meet you if you're just going to come and find me anyways? I've seen you plenty in the last two weeks" Sherlock said dropping his cigarette and stomping the embers out under his boot. "Besides I told you. I've been working today."

"Angelo's doesn't open till 6. We were supposed to meet at 2." Lestrade pointed out. "If you're not going to comply with the rest of the terms of your probation the least you could do is show up. You're obviously high right now and, I'm sorry Sherlock but I'm going to have to report this to the court. I've given you enough chances."

"Then why don't I just tell them that you've been disregarding my behavior in exchange for information for months. I'm sure the judge would just love to hear about that." Sherlock retorted. Lestrade sighed.

"Fine, I won't tell them YET. you do need to make a more conscious effort to show them that you're cleaning up your act. I can't cover for you forever."

"Mycroft will just bail me out anyways." Sherlock said.

"And what about when he gets tired of you acting like a child and decides to leave your ass in their to teach you a lesson?" Lestrade asked.

"That's the last thing he wants. You know as well as I do he never would even if he wanted to. Prison will only teach me how to become a better criminal and no one wants that." Sherlock pointed out. " Now will you tell me what you want?"

"There have been a series of deaths, we've found 3 so far this week. All of them were dope fiends who had been poisoned with Strychnine. None of them have any correlation between. They came from different backgrounds. All of the bodies were found in different parts of London. 3 Others were admitted for Strychnine poisoning. We want to know who's responsible." Lestrade said.

"Alright I'll look into it and see what I can do." Sherlock said, turning to head back inside.

"You might want to lay off the Smack until we get this all sorted." Lestrade advised. Sherlock didn't respond, continuing on his way back to the kitchen.

He didn't even reach his place at the sink before Angelo confronted him. " SHERLOCK!" He yelled, sounding much like an angry bear. Sherlock turned to look at him but said nothing. " HAVE YOU BEEN STEALING LIQUOR FROM BEHIND THE BAR AGIAN?" He accused. Sherlock turned to the sink and started to wash. He was in no mood to answer questions much less deal with accusations that may or may not have been true. " HAVE YOU? ANSWER ME."

"It was probably one of the girls." Sherlock said, brushing off the question.

"None of them are so careless. I bring you in here I give you a job and this is how your repay me. You even smell of alcohol." Angelo insisted and he walked over the to sink. He grabbed Sherlock by his collar, pulling him around to face him. " Boy you listen to me when I'm talking to you. I know that you took it. I'm missing 3 bottles of gin. Who else would have gone through 3 bottles of gin?" He asked Sherlock shrugged, playing dumb. Angelo was enraged, he pulled Sherlock towards the door dragging him through the bar and out to the front, pushing him out the door with a surprising amount of force. he fell and hit the pavement, face down. "don't you come back you little snake!"

John looked over from where he'd been standing. He'd been deep in thoughts but was now distracted by the man laying face down on the street. He seriously doubted he'd be going back into the establishment now.

"What are you looking at?" Sherlock asked glaring up at him. It was only then that john realized he'd been staring.

"... your face is bleeding." John said, mentally cursing himself. That was the best response he could come up with? Sherlock Wiped at his face seeing a shocking amount of blood on his hand. He really hadn't expected it to be bad, but he couldn't feel his face to begin with so it wasn't that hard to believe.

"Are you alright, I um, I'm a doctor, let me have a look." John said moving toward the boy. Sherlock was more then used to being approached by strange men especially in their current part of town. He decided to put on his charms.

"It hurts doctor. Can you help me?" He asked. John kneeled down on the ground next to sherlock looking over his face. It was badly bruised and his lip had been busted open as well as a gash on his forehead.

"I think you're going to need stitches unfortunately. It looked like you hit your face pretty hard." John said.

"That bastard. I work for the guy who threw me out. Thinks I stole some liquor. It was the waitresses though. I took the heat for it cause well, you see how he reacted." Sherlock lied, trying to make himself seem at least halfway decent.

"That's very noble of you." John commented. " You should probably go the hospital..."

"I can't, no insurance." Sherlock said. "Maybe you could stitch me up? You said you were a doctor aren't you?" John thought about it, for a moment before responding. He certainly couldn't leave the man their bleeding.

"Yeah I've got a first aid kit back at my flat if you want to come with me." John said, using his cane to get himself back up. Sherlock stood as well as John hailed them a cab. Bingo found his first of the night and a doctor none the less, he probably had money.


	2. Chapter 2

John felt as thought he was being watched as he climbed the stairs leading up to his flat. He was right in this assumption. Sherlock was drawing together his deductions, a mental picture of John in his head as he followed him. Unmarried, just back from war and by the ease with which he climbed the stairs Sherlock assumed that his limp was psychosomatic. Of course he didn't voice any of his observations. Where his clients were concerned it was best to arm himself which his knowledge and play ignorant to the fact he could piece together.

"It's not much, but it's home for now." John said, opening the door to the small one room flat.

"Seems a bit run down for a doctor. " Sherlock pointed out.

"I was a military doctor, I'm afraid there's not much money in it." John said, walking over to his bed and rustling things about underneath it looking for his first aid kit."Take a seat at the table."

"Thank you." Sherlock said. So he had been right, this doctor was just back from military service. He was probably looking for a quick shag, it had been much to long. Maybe he'd developed some curiosities while living in such close quarters with the other men. Curiosities he didn't dare voice to anyone else. " Is that where you hurt your leg? When you were abroad?" He asked.

"I was shot." John said simply, not wanting to get into such personal information with a stranger. " I didn't catch your name by the way." He said in an attempt to take attention off of his injury.

"Greg." Sherlock said, using the first name that came to mind " Greg Lestrade." He wasn't about to use his name with a potential client, never did. John pulled the necessaries out from his first aid kid and walking over to the table. He turned a chair around to face Sherlock so that he could properly reach the wound. " And yours?"

"John Watson." John replied, dabbing hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball to clean out the wound. One rested directly across Sherlock's forehead,stretching from the corner of his left eyebrow all the way to his hair line. The other Gash was across his lip and up the side of his cheek, although it seemed a little less sever John guessed that it would be the more sensitive of the two. He was surprised at just how little Sherlock fidgeted while John cleaned out his cuts. Peroxide usually stunk, John wasn't fond of the feeling himself.

"I'm going to use a bit of topical anesthetic to numb you while I stitch this up." John said,one he had finished cleansing the gashes. Sherlock nodded He was a bit numb already as he was still high. Most of his life in the last few years had seemed like a blur and hazy numbness.

They two sat in silence for 20 minutes or so until John had finished stitching the gaps in the skin back together.

"There you go, should be all right now. Try to keep them form getting wet but you also need to keep them clean so that they don't get infected." Sherlock said.

"Thank you . Is there anything I can do to repay you for your help?" Sherlock asked. " Maybe I could help you out?" John raised and eyebrow as Sherlock leaned in closing the gap between them and rubbing his hand John's thigh. The older man recoiled instantly.

"Greg what are you doing?" he asked. The whole thing was a bit off putting. Sherlock was also taken aback by Johns actions.

"Well, you brought me home with you. I thought you wanted to fuck." Sherlock said. Understanding flashed across John's face.

"You're a prostitute...of course you are." He said, pointing out what was not clear to him.

"Obviously. You were at Angelo's right down from Baker street surely people don't just stumble across a bar like that if they're not looking for a quick lay." Sherlock said, rising from his chair. "I best be off then, Need to earn my keep before the evening is over. I wasn't lying when I said I lost my job earlier."

"Wait a second." The words were out of John's mouth before he could thing about what he was saying. "Listen you don't have to do anything for me but... I'll give you a little cash just stay here for the night." He said, his hippocratic oath gave him a sense of responsibility to patient whom he treated. He couldn't just this Greg kid go and harm himself again just after he'd gone through the whole effort to stitch him up.

Sherlock stopped and turned around. The offer sounded to good to pass up a paid night off with a man who didn't want to lay a hand on him. "all right..." He said at length.

"There's a shower in the other other room and there's a trundle bed that comes out from under mine. I'll pull it out if you want to go get cleaned up Greg." John offered. He felt a bit bad to be honest. There was no way the boy was in more then his mid 20's. To be living that type of lifestyle must have been a chore.

Sherlock found himself almost genuinely smiling as he went off to shower.

The next morning John awoke to find that 'Greg' was already missing, from the apartment. John wasn't surprised in the least. He got up and walking to the bathroom to start his day. He noticed that the small window which vented to the outside had been pushed open, a feet that he'd never been able to manage. There was also a strange scent that lingered in the room. John couldn't place his finger on exactly what the smell was. It smelled sickly sweet and almost like stale vinegar. He disregarded it and went about brushing his hair and teeth. He reached into the the medicine cabinet for toothpaste when he came across a nasty shock. His pain medications along with assorted other things he kept on hand were all missing. He had some idea of where they might have gone.

John looked through his possessions to see if anything else had been stolen. As it turned out he was missing several things. All of his cash was gone, along with his military ID, his gun and the pills. He should have thought that something like this would happen is if he let a hooker into his happy home.

He pulled his phone out from the pocket of his coat and called Ella to reschedule their first meeting. "Hello, Dr. Thompson. It's John Watson. I'm not going to be able to make it today. I've been robbed. I've got to go and file a police report..."

As Lestrade was allowing Sherlock to work on a case with him he decided that he would go ahead and play nice at least for the day. They were supposed to be going to investigate an old warehouse where it was rumored that the tainted dope was coming from. Sherlock doubted that they would find anything still hanging around the area. Once any dealer had the slightest suspicious that the cops were on to their whereabouts they would move on to a new location as to keep their activities under the radar. Heroine dealers were among the most skittish. For Sherlock this was usually a positive. The less of them that managed to get themselves caught, then the more of his fix of choice would be in supply competition drives prices down. Not until poison was pushed into the equation was Sherlock willing to help Lestrade with any information that could lead to a potential drug bust.

One stipulation of working on the case was that he had to honor his parol meeting at Scotland Yard. He would usually have put up a fight but this particular morning he was well dosed and content for the time being.

"You actually showed! What happened you look like hell?" He asked Sherlock.

"Angelo, he threw me out." Sherlock said, shrugging off the comment about his appearance. " Can we just-"

"GREG YOU ASSHOLES!" An angry voice yelled from behind the pair. Sherlock turned to see the last person he'd expected to see at Scotland yard. It was John Watson. In to fill out a police report judging by his mood. His clothes were still wrinkled, so he must have left in a hurry, as soon as he'd realized something was wrong. His socks didn't match either.

"What's that now? Do I know you?" Lestrade asked, looking at John as though he had seven heads.

"THERE YOU ARE JOHN YOU GOT MY NOTE!" Sherlock covered quickly. " I left it on your table to meet you hear. Detective inspector this is John Watson he's the man who took care of my head last night. I thought that we might be able to use a doctor to help us for good measure." Sherlock said.

" Sherlock I'm breaking enough rules just allowing you on this case in the first place." Lestrade said.

"Sherlock? You said your name was Greg!" John snapped.

"No, I'm Greg. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade." Lestrade said, holding out a hand to John.

"It's all explained in the note, I was using an alias or did you just see the part about Scotland yard and came running down here. I also borrowed your gun I apologize again the note stated these things if you would have read it." Sherlock added pulling out the gun from the inside pocked of his coat and handing it back to John along with his military ID.

Those two items had been Johns main concerns, he figured he wouldn't make a fuss out of the rest of it. There was something about the prospect of a bit of danger that thrilled him, causing his stomach to flutter. Even if it would involve running around town with a man who had robbed him and now lied to him multiple times in the less then 12 hours that they had known each other.

"I didn't see the note. Now will someone please tell me what is going on." John asked. Lestrade was about to protest when Sherlock decided to launch into the details.

"There have been a series of bodies turning up. There doesn't seem to be any obvious correlation between the bodies other then all the victims are Heroin addicts with similar causes of death. They've all been poisoned with similar doses of strychnine. The last victim died in the hospital yesterday. I believe that he bought it from an abandoned warehouse down need the Thames. He was found not far from the water front. Judging by the normal onset of high doses of heroin when injected and the time it would take for the poisoning to take over the body he couldn't have shoot up more then 8 blocks away maximum. Take away warehouses that are in current use for legitimate operations and the ones that have been busted for drugs in the past and that leaves us to assume there's only one place it could be coming from." Sherlock said.

"That's... Brilliant." John said. What a cunning thief he had found himself up against.

"We highly doubt that there's going to be anyone their now but we're hoping that we can set him loose in there and the drug dog will sniff something out that can lead us to the suppliers." Lestrade said.

"Oh we'll be using dogs?" John asked.

"He means me." Sherlock said indignantly.

"This goes against all of my better Judgments but doctor would you like to come with us. If not at least allow me to make up for some of the trouble this one has caused you." Lestrade said.

" No no, I'm sure he did mention something about this last night. I'm very forgetful sometimes. I must have missed the note It's perfectly fine." John said. He could do with a little danger in his life again. Anything to break from the monotony of his new found civilian lifestyle. "But what was your name again? Sherlock did you said."

"Sherlock Holmes. The worlds only consulting detective. Shall we be off then?" Sherlock asked, turning on his heel and strolling down the hallways and out of the station.


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived at the warehouse at a quarter past noon. There were several notices on the entrance stating that the site had long since been condemned. Watson could see why. The outside of the building was covered in Gang tagging and and non- descript Graffiti which was certainly not intended for it's artistic merit. The windows were all either busted out or boarded over. Most of them appeared to have been broken from the inside, shattered glass littering the sidewalk below.

"Looks like the front is all boarded up." Lestrade said.

" There will be an entrance around the back. Always is." Sherlock commented, already halfway around to the rear of the building. Sure enough there was a back door that had been left open. John wasn't sure if this was as an invitation for people to come in or because the door could no longer be shut properly.

Sherlock continued inside without a second thought. The inner room of the building was completely open, with high vaulted ceilings. There was trash littered across every inch of open floor space. Old mattresses were mixed in among other pieces of furniture that were scattered about the room. Tables, Chairs, couches and even desk in the far east corner of the room. Drug Paraphernalia was everywhere. It was difficult to take so much as a set in any direction without coming across needles or small vials used to hold drugs.

John was shocked at how at home Sherlock seemed in this environment, moving quickly over the rubble and towards the desk in the corner. There was a small amount of white powder left on it's surface. Sherlock licked his finger and dabbed it a bit on the surface. He then proceeded to lick the powered from the tip of his pointer finger. " We've found our source." He said. Watson blinked a him in shock.

"Did you...did you just lick the poison?" He asked.

"Yes, strychnine has a very distinctly bitter taste. That little dab won't be enough to harm me. It would take at least 50 milligrams to poison a man of my size orally." He said.

" Most of the Victims were found with less then that dosage in their systems." Lestrade pointed out.

"That's because whoever gave them the poison knew that the victims would be injecting the drugs intravenously at which point it only takes 5 to 10 milligrams for death to occur, less then the amount it would take to kill a small child orally." Sherlock explained. As if on cue, at the word child there was a cry from another room. All 3 men looked round, spotting the only other door that lead out of the main room. It lead them into a stairway and laying on an empty step at the bottom was a small child appearing to be about 2 years old. The gender was impossible to determine by sight alone. Hair was medium length and a dusty blond, matted to the scalp as though it had not been brushed for months now. The Childs face was covered in dirt and the rest of it's body covered with small sores. It wore clothes surely not suitable for fall in london, leaving the child's body shivering.

"The child was probably a barter left when everyone fled." Sherlock said. " On some occasions addicted mothers will use their children as collateral to get a hit saying they will return quickly with money. There's no way to tell how long he's been here though."

"He? Are you sure it's a boy?" John asked.

"Most certainly. You can tell by the bone structure in the face and neck areas, even at this age they are distinctly masculine." Sherlock stated.

"We're going to have to take him back with us." Lestrade said. The child just stared up at them, perplexed by who these men were but obviously relieved that someone had heard him cry out.

"Good thing we brought a doctor with us, John you should have a look at him." Sherlock said with the smallest hint of a smile.

"Right. Lets get him out of here first." John said. He walked over and picked up the small boy and put his coat over him before picking him up. Instead of resisting him he instantly leaned his head on Lestrade's shoulder allowing himself to be carried out of the building and back to the cop car.

Back at Scotland Yard John tended to the lost boy, cleaning his wounds and face as well as looking over his general health. "He's severely malnourished, his wrist is broken, possibly in multiple places, and he doesn't seem to be able to speak. Also, may have respiratory problems, his breathing seems to be harsh and irregular. He'll have to go to the hospital for any further diagnosis." John said.

"Yes and I'd also like to do some DNA tests, see if he is in any way connected to any of the previous deaths." Sherlock said. He had been sitting in the corner, thinking intently as John worked.

"Right. well the poor thing is traumatized that's for sure. The best thing right now would be be to get him some of the basic needs. Food, a bath and some rest there will be time for all of that tomorrow." John said, not wanting to put any more stressed on the child at the moment then needed.

"What's your name." Lestrade asked. The little boy didn't respond, proof of John's theory that his speech hadn't developed yet. It was a classic sign of child Neglect. " Well we've got to call him something. We can't keep referring to him as boy."

"Hamish." Sherlock said. John thought about pointing out the fact that that was his middle name but decided to stay quiet.

"Alright then we'll call you Hamish. You hungry?" Lestrade asked. Hamish nodded his head eagerly. "Lets get him over to St. Bart's and they can take care of this for now." John nodded. It seemed like the best option and the boy was obviously in need of medical attention.

"We ought to have them conduct the DNA tests today." Sherlock said. "If the culprits have already fled the scene then we have very little time to find those responsible or it's possible that they could flee London all together. It will take a while to get the results back and we need to know as soon as possible it's of vital importance." Lestrade nodded.

" I'll have Donavan take him over to the hospital. What else did you find while we were in the warehouse? Anything of use?"

"Not much, all signs say that it was a high traffic drug house until the heads of the operation were informed we were coming. Judging by the number of mattresses I would say that sexual favors were a common form of currency and there were probably 5-10 frequent residence among the crowd. Also the power that was left on the table was a blend of Heroin and strychnine just as we had suspected. Defiantly our source. Find our if any of the surrounding building had surveillance cameras that would have picked up any traffic coming in or out of the building." Sherlock said. Lestrade nodded. Whenever he needed Sherlock to help him on a case he usually took his word as law.

"Alright I'll ask around see what I can dig up."

"Good. I've got to... head off to work. I'll see if anyone in my network knows who was running the operation out of there. They tend to get suspicious of me when I ask question though, I'll have to be discreet about it so I may not get anything useful." Sherlock said, standing up and collecting his coat from where it lay on the chair next to him.

" may I speak with you for a second?" He asked.

"Sure." John said, getting up and following Sherlock out of the building. They walked a few blocks in silence before Sherlock turned to speak to him.

"This isn't something that I say often, so don't expect to hear it again. Thank you, for not ratting me out this morning." Sherlock said. John wasn't sure how to respond. To be honest all thoughts of anger had left him once the idea of being able to work in the field had come up, and once his gun was back in his own hands.

"It's really no problem. A bit of crime solving did me some good I think. It's rather boring in London these days." John said.

"Of course. So I say crime and you say yes." Sherlock said, a small smile flashing across his features once again.

"I suppose."

"Military solider returned from war due to injury. I think you miss the thrill of it all. Also, I told you that your limp was psychosomatic. You left you cane in the warehouse as soon as you picked up the boy and you've been fine ever since." John looked down. He hadn't even noticed that he didn't have his wooden companion at his side.

" I'll be damned..." He was slightly amazed by his inobservance as well as the fact that he was walking just fine! It was a relief to be truthful, a weight off his shoulders. "Where did you come up with that name? Hamish." He asked, the question had stuck in his mind since it had come up.

" I took your military ID remember. It was the first thing that came to my mind." Sherlock said as he strolled off in the other direction without another word.

The Next afternoon John went down to 's to check in on Hamish. As he had been involved with finding the boy he wanted to make sure that he was alright. John had a tendency to be compassionate in that way, especially when it came of the well being of children. When he'd first gotten into medicine he'd thought about being a pediatrician but had been distracted by the call of the military.

When he arrived he found the boy napping. "How's he doing today?" he asked one of the nurses who was in charge of caring for Hamish. He looked much different then when John had seen him the previous day. His clothes were fresh and clean as was the rest of him, and his hair had been cut short and brushed. His sores were bandaged and his wrist had been placed into a splint to avoid further damage to it.

" He doesn't say much, poor thing." The nurse said. " We ran some scans on him, and did a few tests. Unfortunately he seems to be positive for HIV. We're thinking it was either transmitted to him by the birth mother or from his environment, possibly stepping on a dirty needle or something of the sort but it's near impossible to tell." John felt as though the pit of his stomach had dropped out. Such a young child should never have to suffer such a horrible fate, not due to the mistakes of others.

"That's a real shame." He said, drooping his head.

"It really is. So young to. We think he's about three and a half but he's very underdeveloped for his age." The nurse said. John looked past the nurse's shoulder as he saw a man enter the room. Tall, blue eyes and in a familiar black coat.

"Oh, Hello." He said, causing the nurse to turn.

"John, I didn't expect to see you here." Sherlock said.

"I decided to come and check up on Hamish. What happened to him touched me, I needed to know that it was alright. Have you come to check in on him as well." John asked.

"No, not particularly. I've come to see if the results for the DNA test had come back yet." Sherlock said, swaying on his feet ever so slightly. The nurse glared.

"Sherlock, what have I told you about coming in here like this!" The nurse said, barely above a hushed whisper. " If they see you intoxicated they will call the authorities."

"Hush Molly I can handle myself. I know you're not going to tell anyone. Now have you got the lab results on the DNA test yet?" Sherlock said. John looked from Sherlock to the nurse and back again. It was obvious that they knew each other.

" Yes. Have a seat I'll go and get them." She said, walking off in the other direction.

Sherlock took the seat next to John, waiting patiently in silence. Silences had a habit of making John very uncomfortable. " So you know her? I'm guessing you come around often then?" He asked.

"Who Molly? Yes she's been some help to me in the past. Most of the doctors won't allow me information but she gives me what I need and sneaks me into the labs when I need to use them." Sherlock said. John nodded and then the silence set in again.

Molly returned moments later with the paper work which Sherlock snatched form her hands, reading it over quickly. "Just as I thought. Come along John, no time to waste." He said, walking toward the exit. John opened his mouth as if to say something but then closed it again. He figured it would be best to just follow.


End file.
